


remember me (the only hope is you)

by silentlypunk



Series: lights will guide [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen, Lil bit of angst?, M/M, Multi, Other, bokuto gets pissed at sand because i too get pissed at sand, fukurodani squad, not really - Freeform, that's it that's the bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22055668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentlypunk/pseuds/silentlypunk
Summary: — please fi — ther way —when — human,…ain —— I WILL……INGS RIGHT!!! —You,….swords,…proof of my —I’m sorry, Akaashi.— lov —.from Bokuto Koutarou
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: lights will guide [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587469
Comments: 26
Kudos: 137





	remember me (the only hope is you)

**Author's Note:**

> hey, if you're new i strongly recommend you read the first one before this otherwise things are gonna get a bit confusing :) otherwise, please enjoy!

**now - one week before gatherrffdigfsg**

Bokuto is running. He’s been doing that a lot recently, running. One leg in front of the other, a good exploding pain all through his legs and back, the robes billowing behind him in the breeze. He throws a hard right, reaches the shadowy glade and skids to a stop in front of two foxes, doubling over with heavy pants.

When he looks back up, the foxes are gone — replaced by two twin boys who are holding hands.

“You’re late,” Atsumu says, flicking his blond hair out of his eyes with his free hand. “We were about to leave.”

“We weren’t about to leave,” Osamu says, brushing his grey hair out of his eyes with his free hand. He shoots a glance at his brother, who sticks his tongue out in response. “Tsumu was just being a dick.”

“Thanks for waiting,” Bokuto wheezes out. The twins shrug, looking at him expectantly as he fishes out two relatively unflattened leaf-wrapped pastries from his pockets. “Here, berry tarts.”

The twins grab the tarts with both hands and wolf them down eagerly as Bokuto sits down on the grass in front of them. “What’s new? In that magic world of yours.”

Atsumu licks the crumbs around his mouth. “We got permission.”

Osamu licks his fingers, smacking his lips. “We can take you to the big gathering next week.”

A thrill runs down Bokuto’s spine. “Really?”

“Yeah, we talked to Kita-san about it, and he didn’t say anything, so it’s probably fine.” Atsumu plops to the ground, pulling blades of grass out of the soil. “He didn’t press for details.”

“But _we_ want to press for details.” Osamu smacks his brother’s hand before Atsumu pulls out a daisy. “Who are you so desperate to meet at the gathering?”

Bokuto shrugs, fidgety. “I told you guys. A friend. From home.”

“You said you _needed_ to see him,” Atsumu says.

“You said it was _urgent_ ,” Osamu says.

This. This is why Bokuto doesn’t like the twins. Their gaze is so _piercing_ , and it makes him feel so intimidated, which is dumb because they’re just _kids._ Not even fully fledged fae yet. Kuroo’s eyes — or rather, eye singular — had not been half this invasive. Neither had Kenma’s.

Neither had —

“This is adult business,” Bokuto says importantly, all the while remembering he’d hated how adults would use that phrase on him while he was a kid himself.

Besides, the twins could be his dad’s age. If his dad was alive. And if they were human children, not fae children.

The Miya twins, the martyr twins of legend in Black Jackal village, the first casualties of the jackal invasion. Faaaaaaalse. The Miya twins, Bokuto had learned in his first week at Black Jackal village, had run off one day, found a fae’s oasis, pestered the fae there until they agreed to let the twins begin an initiation period of fifty years. Their village thought they’d gone and gotten themselves eaten, mischievous little buggers that they were. Their parents died of heartbreak. The twins, aged ten, did not and would not care. And now that their fifty years are up —

Why was Bokuto at Black Jackal village, you ask?

**thirteen weeks ago - approx. 3 turns of the moon**

Bokuto spent six hours in the woods — way past dinnertime — clearing his mind and wandering and playing he-loves-me(-not) before making his way back home.

Konoha greeted him at the front door, and he realised —

“The King’s Guards are here for you.”

— his world was to tilt on its axis, again.

“A royal commission,” one of the guards read. Bokuto eyed his pink hair and wondered if it was as fluffy as it looked. “From the royal assho- I mean, the King, King Oikawa, of course, his royal honour. Ahem. To the reknowned Bokuto Koutarou, one of the best hunters in my kingdom—”

“That you?” The other guard interrupted, wiggling his thick eyebrows in Bokuto’s direction. The pink-haired guard lowered his scroll and nudged him with a glare, their spears clanking together.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Komi said. Everyone else was huddled near the couch, watching anxiously. Bokuto squared himself up and hid the lavenders behind his back.

Pinky sighed. “Thank you. Matsukawa you prick.”

Eyebrows (Matsukawa?) shrugged. “Just checking.”

“I commission you to deal with the jackal infestation in Black Jackal village, named after its misfortune for the past fifty years,” Pinky continued. “You are to stay there until every last jackal has run or died in defeat, and to train the hunters as you see fit. Transport and an advance payment — ten bushels of gold coins — will arrive tomorrow morning, and you are to set off ASAP. Thrice that to arrive when the job is done, and however much bonus the village sees fit. Much gratitude blah blah blah. There, that’s everything important.”

“Was it really necessary to read all of that?”

“Hey, I’m just doing my job.” Pinky rolled up his scroll and stuck out a hand for Bokuto to shake. “Hanamaki Takahiro, Mission Sector, First Division. Pleased to meet you.”

Bokuto shook his hand, confused.

“Matsukawa Issei, same rankings as him.” Bokuto shook hands with Eyebrows, who winced. “Firm grip, dude. Anyway, you get what he wants, right?”

“Where’s Black Jackal village?” Bokuto asked, hoping that it would be within maybe a day’s walk at most.

Hanamaki tapped his chin. “Three days by horse?”

Goddamnit.

“We’ll be with you most of the time, because the King’s pissed at us for putting possums in his bed and has exiled us briefly from the palace. Don’t worry about it,” Matsukawa added hastily, seeing the horrified looks on all their faces. “We pretty much grew up together, so we’re not wanted for treason or anything.”

“Yet,” Hanamaki said ominously.

“Makki, not helpful.”

“Sorry. _Any_ way, that’s a pretty hefty wage.” Hanamaki whistled. “Ten bushels! And the village is providing accommodation and food, too.”

“You’ve got the night,” Matsukawa said. “We’ll see you at the crack of dawn, so you’ve got eight hours to pack, give or take. It’s ok to travel light though.”

The front door shut behind their smart mint uniforms, and Bokuto’s friends jumped up.

“TEN BUSHELS OF GOLD!!!!!!” Komi hollered. “KING’S FUCKING LOADED!!!!!!”

“Why the long face, Bokuto?” Sarukui pinched his cheek. “You’ll be done in a month, I bet.”

Bokuto blinked, awakening from shock. “But it’s jackals, not deer,” he argued. “They’re smart! And it’s a whole different habitat!”

“Well, you know we only mean it most of the time when we call you a sack of rocks,” Konoha snickered. “That was a joke!” he rushed to say when everyone else glared at him. “We believe in you, really.”

“I…need to pack,” Bokuto managed, overwhelmed by yet another change in his life. “You guys will see me off, right?”

“You going off to be a hero? Of course.” Shirofuku looked to the kitchen with a smile. “We’ll make you a big early breakfast.”

Amidst the excited chatter, Bokuto stumbled up the stairs and collapsed onto his bed, the lavenders spilling out of his grasp onto the floor.

He stared at the ribbon around his finger, the silver key, and twisted to look at the thank-you note fluttering on his dresser.

The room door shut quietly behind a tall figure.

“Is something wrong?” Washio asked gruffly.

“Washio,” Bokuto said, numb. “I won the thing but I didn’t say yes and now I won’t have the chance to say yes but I think he quite wants me to and also he mentioned some kind of ‘brief window to become human again’ and I’m scared because I want to help but I can’t because I have to go kill a bunch of jackals but I don’t know what helping would involve but I need to go back there and —”

“Stop talking,” Washio said, blunt as ever. “I don’t understand half of what you said. Start over. And be mindful of the time.”

So Bokuto sat up, and for the next two hours, he talked. He talked about the two cats, mangy black and shy calico, who weren’t really cats. He talked about healing and befriending the owl without any thought for what it meant. He talked about what he knew of the fae world, and how it was so beautiful and interesting and how _he_ was so beautiful and interesting and by the time Washio understood all that had happened, Bokuto really needed a drink.

They were silent for a moment, and Bokuto realised that he’d probably sounded batshit insane and that Washio was going to throw him to Daishou and that would be the end of it.

“I’m happy for you,” Washio finally said. “It sounds complicated and dangerous and impossible, but I believe you, and I believe in you. However, for now you should prioritise the job.”

“But Akaashi,” Bokuto said. His throat was dry. He stared at the lavender stalks. “I want — I need to help him.”

“If what you say is true, then write a letter,” Washio said. Bokuto stared at him. “If it is so urgent, the cats will return as messengers. I will give them what you need to say. Then,” he said, in a rare gentler tone, “you must trust in their power to do what needs to be done.”

“Write a letter,” Bokuto repeated. “Can you help me?”

Washio glanced at the bedside clock; a bit less than six hours to Bokuto’s departure. “Yes.”

-

_Akaashi,_

_By the time you’re reading this, I’m not in Fukurodani anymore. DON’T WORRY I STILL WANT TO HELP YOU!!!!! I have to go kill a bunch of jackals for the King. Long story about Black Jackal village that I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR BECAUSE I GOT THE NEWS LITERALLY STRAIGHT AFTER I GOT HOME FROM YOUR PLACE AND I ONLY HAVE FIVE HOURS TO WRITE THIS AND ALSO PACK TO LEAVE AND I AM VERY BAD WITH WORDS. Anyway. Please tell Kuroo and Kenma that Washio (the guy who gave them this) can be trusted!!!! He saw me bandage you but he’s a really close and tight-lipped friend of mine. Please don’t kill him_ ~~_oh my god do you guys do that??_ __ ~~

_BACK TO THE MAIN POINT!!! I don’t know what helping you would involve and I hope my work won’t keep me too late from doing that!!!! I am going to try my best to come back after a month. But if I can’t…please find another way, it would make me really sad but please find another way to help yourself and when you’re human again we can talk about it and I WILL MAKE THINGS RIGHT!!!! You still have my swords!!!! They’re proof of my sincereness. I’m sorry, Akaashi. I really am. And I_ ~~ _lo_~~ _l ~~ov~~_ ~~_really like_ _like_~~ _LOVE YOU._ ~~ _Wait that was what you were telling me right??_~~ _Please believe me._

_Bokuto Koutarou_

-

**twelve weeks ago - first arrival**

Sand. Bokuto had never realised how white it could be.

“I already don’t like this place, no offence,” Hanamaki said. He took off his boot and poured out a load of sand, making a face. “This stuff gets everywhere.”

“We wear sandals here, sir,” the mayor said politely. “And a much lighter attire.”

“Fair point.”

Bokuto was already scanning the terrain, marking borders, thinking about formations and pack behaviour. “What can your hunters tell me about the jackals?”

They were fast, and they were clever. Traps were the best way, but they never seemed discouraged, just more and more enraged. They ruined the plantations, ate their sheep, their poultry, their children, though the last was relatively rare. And most annoyingly of all, they seemed infinite.

“Traps, huh?” Bokuto glared at the bushy vegetation, completely unfamiliar to him — yet he was confident he could adapt quickly. “Fine. I’ll be done in no time, just watch.”

-

“Fucking — sand!” Bokuto stamped on the soft ground in frustration while Matsukawa patted his back sympathetically. “It’s hard to move on this! And no trees for me to shoot from either! And these clothes! Too flowy! The sandals! Too strappy! Geh!!”

It wasn’t working. Nothing was working.

“You’ll figure it out, the King trusts you.” Matsukawa looked down at himself distastefully. They were dressed similarly in white cotton robes that tied loosely around their ankles, like really billowy trousers. He and Hanamaki had retained their royal mint-dyed collars, whereas Bokuto had been given one of low-cut golden silk with black shoulder straps across the chest. Their guardsmen’s spears had been decorated with bracelets and ribbons of local design, and the craftsmen had already gifted Bokuto with necklaces and arm bands with intricate patterns and superstitious lettering. The curved knives they had been given as local blessings hung on a thick belt around their waist, and the fine straps of their sandals crisscrossed all the way up to their knees.“I have to say, still not used to these clothes. Though they’re good for the weather here.”

Bokuto sat petulantly on a rock nearby, scowling. “I didn’t have to worry half this much when I had to go murder a monster boar in the nearby mountains,” he grumbled. “And now there’s dunes AND mountains and no nice leafy woods for me to hide in. I don’t like it. It’s not my thing.”

“You’ve already killed ten of them, though. With a trial trap. We’ve only been here two days.”

“Ten! I gotta kill hundreds!”

Matsukawa sighed. “Maybe you should go for a walk,” he suggested unenthusiastically.

“Maybe I will! And practice running on this DUMB SAND!”

-

There were two tiny foxes next to the small lake. Bokuto watched them from behind a boulder, seething.

 _I hate infestations!_ he thought resentfully. _Rodent canine crossovers! Stupid jackals. Stupid foxes._

The foxes’ ears pricked up. They were a curious shade, pale grey foxes, one with yellow tufts around its ears and the other with dark grey tufts. Their tails were similarly tinted.

When they turned around, their eyes were a bit too sharp to be animal.

And then Bokuto heard voices.

_Someone’s there, ‘Samu._

_Behind the boulder, ‘Tsumu._

_Think we can eat them?_

_We can try._

“What the fuck,” Bokuto said, and fitted an arrow into his bow.

_Hey, he heard us!_

_That’s new. Should we…?_

_This looks fun~_

_Hello, new guy._

“We’re the Miya twins,” said the one who called the other ‘Tsumu.

“Who are you?” said the one who called the other ‘Samu. “Never seen you before.”

Bokuto stood up in one swift turn, the two arrows in his bow aimed straight at the —

“Children?” Bokuto yelped.

The twins looked at each other, then back at him. “You can see us,” the blond one said. “I’m Atsumu.”

“No one’s been able to see us before,” said the one with dark grey hair. “I’m Osamu.”

Bokuto kept his aim. “Are you guys ghosts?”

The twins smiled in creepy unison. “No,” they said. “We’re fae children.”

Bokuto dropped his bow, and the twins disappeared.

**indefinite - before the now**

He learned about how to move on sand efficiently and how to use his surroundings better, with help from the local kids who jumped and ran around like rabbits. His traps began killing more jackals, gradually teaching the hunters how to better protect and defend. He began to get attacked by them, like it was a personal grudge, but although they were fast and clever he was faster, cleverer and stronger still.

He received a reply from Kuroo ( _not Akaashi,_ he noted sadly) and folded himself away for a couple days, much to Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s concern. They convinced him to go play with the kids to feel better and take a break.

The kids told him about the Miya twins — the legendary twins who’d offended the gods and brought upon them the curse of the jackals. The adults told him about the Miya twins — the little martyrs who were eaten by jackals, giving them a taste for the people of the village, and died protecting the family dog out in the middle of nowhere. The dog had come back to the village with scraps of fabric that their parents had recognised as the twins’ clothing.

Bokuto thought about them, the two little foxes by the lake, and decided to go back to them.

He gave the twins berry tarts twice a week and persuaded them to tell him about themselves. Why were they fae? How were they fae? They were human, once. Akaashi had said that about himself too. Could they turn human again? How? They laughed at their legends, scoffed at their villagers, got impatient with his never-ending questions. Bokuto wondered if all fae were like this. He really hoped it wasn’t the case.

“We’re undergoing our initiation period,” Atsumu said. He was in a good mood today, savouring the attention. “Fifty years for kids, a century for adults. The fae aren’t immortal, just very slow in ageing. For the null, our ages are paused, so that if the initiation is rejected, we get thrown back into the human world exactly the same as we left it. But apparently it’s really embarrassing for a null to be rejected so they usually just, like, kill themselves on the spot.”

“He doesn’t know what a null is,” Osamu said, quietly. Bokuto wasn’t sure if he liked either of them, but he probably preferred Osamu, more quiet and steady than his cheeky brother. Although they could be equally as bad at times.

“Oh yeah.” Atsumu pointed at Bokuto, then himself. “You human. We null. Not human, not fully fae, stuck in between. Cancelled out. Null.”

“We graduate at the next big gathering.” Osamu looked mildly excited. “Usually a bunch of initiates graduate at the same time, but before that we gotta pick our families.”

“Families?” Bokuto thought about Kuroo and Kenma, how they were dressed in similar colours and how they both blossomed red flowers. He’d seen the twins play with ghost flowers of the desert, white and pale and droopy. “What are they, do those determine anything?”

Osamu looked at him, a quirk of mystery to his mouth. “Tell you later.”

The twins always vanished whenever they wanted. It was really just a little bit rude.

**twelve weeks ago - somewhere in nowhere**

“Maybe I should go check on him today,” Kuroo said hesitantly, leaning awkwardly against the doorframe to Akaashi’s bedroom. “You know. It’s been a week. We kind of need to know. And I’d like some fish. Maybe I’ll go up and get some fish. From the town market. Just the fish. Do you, uh, want any? Fish, I mean, not —”

Kuroo mashed his lips shut before he could keep rambling.

_I’ve lived nine centuries, yet I still don’t know how to shut up._

Akaashi was curled up in bed under the covers. As far as Kuroo could tell, he hadn’t moved in a couple of days. A spider danced across the floor.

The “him” who needed checking on was unnamed, but who else could it be?

Kenma appeared from behind him, peeking in decisively. “We’re going to go get some fish from the market.”

Nothing but the deafening silence Akaashi had cast in his home.

“Righto,” Kuroo sighed, but then the covers shifted.

“Do what you like.” Akaashi’s voice was muffled under the layers. “I’m going to stretch my wings a bit.”

“No one likes waiting, Keiji,” Kuroo said gently. “But, you know…family head needs to know so that he can start preparing the rites.”

“You already know what you need to do as family head.” Akaashi’s head emerged, mildly hostile, and Kenma saw the steel in his eyes, the fear in his heart. “I have nowhere else to go other than Nekoma if…”

“Karasuno would take you, too,” Kuroo said, feeling defensive for no particular reason. “In the first place, they caused your initiation.”

Akaashi sat up fully, annoyed. “Because Tobio used my human scribe skills to document his own spellwork and then they decided I knew too much, yes. After which I have been integrated with Nekoma. Besides, as nice as he is, I don’t want to take Sawamura’s blood.”

“And you want to take mine?”

“Not particularly, but do I have a choice?”

They glared at each other until Kenma blinded them with their white light. “As entertaining as this is,” they said tiredly, fading down as they blinked the spots away, “You know full well you have another choice. You’re just too scared of rejection now because you had so much confidence. And before you ask, it was a true connection, so don’t bother saying it was a fluke.”

Akaashi’s face flushed. “I wasn’t going to,” he mumbled. “I just…”

“Want to die a human? We know. Come on, Kuro. We’re getting,” Kenma rolled their eyes, “fish.”

“ _Hell_ yeah.”

-

They read the letter twice, thrice, four times and five, and Kuroo muttered, “Fuck _._ ”

-

_Bokuto,_

_If you can’t make it back in time, there’s no other choice. We’ll miss the window. It can’t be reversed. When you get back, come with the key immediately. There’s no other way for humans to get to the gatherings unless a fae brings you in, they wouldn’t know how to get there otherwise. It’s like the key, you know how having the key made you get to Akaashi’s house, it’s like that. And we can’t come to where you are without a hell lotta trouble. I repeat: when you get back, come with the key_ _immediately_ _. Otherwise your sincerity and love will be for nothing. Akaashi WANTS to be human again. Grant him this one wish, please._

_Kuroo (your friend is kinda scary by the way)_

When Kuroo returned from delivering the letter to their middleman, Akaashi had retreated back under the covers.

He didn’t hear the weeping because the black cat had run out of the bubble as quickly as he could.

 _Please, Bokuto,_ he thought grimly. _Make it back in time._

-

“I’m not sure we should be doing so much for a mere Null,” Kenma said later on, as Kuroo sat and groomed through his black coat. “In the first place, it’s an insult to the fae that he rejects our power so firmly.”

Kuroo hummed. “I can see why he does, though. It’s your ninth century turn this year, and yet you will probably live even more. Our average lifespan is two and a half millennia! Death is what makes human life precious; let him be human if he wishes to be, I say. He was abducted by those crows in the first place anyway.”

“Death is also what makes it fleeting.” Kenma sighed. “If he chooses our bloodline, then his shifting form will be forced into a permanent cat. The owl will be gone with the gathering. His adaptation will be painful.”

“What else can he or we do? There’s been no second takers for owl shifters after the Fukurodani family was exiled. Odd that he shifted naturally into an owl though.”

“The ancient Fukurodani family.” Kenma stared at the (normal) owl nesting in its (normal) tree. “Even I barely know them.”

“Are you on about that thing again?” Kuroo stretched, his amber eye reflecting the moonlight and spooking the owl into movement. “There’s no way. I mean, my heritage senses are nowhere near yours, but still…it’s too coincidental.”

The ghost of a smile flitted momentarily across Kenma’s curling mouth. “What is coincidence if not the fool’s idea of fate?”

“Did you just call me a fool?”

**now - one week before the -**

“So you’re there to save an initiation,” Osamu concludes wonderingly. Bokuto gulps and wonders if he shouldn’t have spilled his entire love life (or maybe the current lack of it) to the twins.

“Why would anyone _not_ want to be fae?” Atsumu kicks off the boulder, dragging Osamu with him. “Look, we can do this.”

A gust of wind picks up, and the twins collapse into themselves, shifting into foxes. Atsumu dips his paw into the lake and splashes droplets all over his twin, but they dissipate with a hiss before a single drop lands on Osamu.

 _And you can hear us in your head,_ Osamu adds. _Only because you’ve had previous fae contact, though._

“Can you guys read minds?” Bokuto asks, hoping that the answer is no.

_No, well the really strong ones maybe, but we can speculate pretty well. We can sense and smell human emotions, after all._

“Oh.” Bokuto sags in relief. “Cool.”

Another gust of wind swoops through, blowing sand into his clothes, and the twins materialise in front of him once more. “Anyway, about smuggling you into the gathering,” Atsumu says dismissively. “We’ll get you a form of disguise, and there’ll probably be so many fae there that no one’s gonna be able to sense a human anyway, but Kita-san said he’d make us a sort of barrier. Also you’ll be sitting with us. Inarizaki. Less suspicions.”

Bokuto clasps his hands together, grateful and nervous at the same time. “I’ll get you guys a forest berry cake or something! And please thank your Kita-san for me! Even though I still don’t really know what I have to do there.”

“No one does.” The twins shrug. “See you.”

A bit more training, the last ones in the pack, and he’ll be done. Not enough time to get back, but enough for him to leave right after.

After all, owls don’t really go with sand.

**g** **a** **̴̣̩͇͔̓̊̓** **t** **̶͔̉ͅ** **h** **e** **̺̞** **͕** **r** **i** **̷̢̡̹͔̖͈̀** **n** **g** **̷͂** ̭̜̖͜

“This is the disguise you were talking about?” Bokuto stares, horrified, at the… _thing_ the twins were holding out to him. They nod, not seeing any problem with it.

It’s a jackal pelt. And it’s not just any jackal pelt; Bokuto recognises the scar on its face that he’d dealt it himself. The last of the stragglers, powerful and cunning, unnaturally larger than its counterparts. The hunters whispered that it had been born as a hybrid between a hellhound and a curse. Bokuto thought it was probably a thing of magic. They’d been trying to get rid of this last pest for the past three weeks.

And now the twins had killed it and skinned it? Two fae boys half his size?

Bokuto wouldn’t say that his pride as a strong hunter was wounded, but it was a little bit wounded.

“Pull it on like a cape and use the head as a hood,” Atsumu says. “It’s better than nothing in a crowd of fae.”

“I’m a hunter,” Bokuto reminds them. “I know about camouflage and hiding. And I’ve had — some experience. It’ll be fine.”

Atsumu snaps the head down, and Bokuto cringes at the way the skin feels, the revulsion that comes with irritation that he couldn’t score this last pest. But oh, the pity that courses through him when he sees the jagged edges of the skin. It wasn’t clean; likely it hadn’t been quick and easy for the creature, either.

(No matter how irritating the creature had been, it had just been trying to survive.)

Osamu pulls on his brother’s hand, then pulls on the limp paw draped over Bokuto’s shoulder. “We must hurry. The family will be anxious to leave.”

Head down, the jackal’s dead jaw hanging slack over his face, Bokuto follows the twins through the shrubbery.

He knows he’s in fae territory when he experiences the same blinding dizziness as he did when he had entered Akaashi’s little bubble of safety, all those months ago. He blinks away the colours, raises his head just a little bit.

And he sees — everything.

Hundreds of thousands of fae people, streaming through the undergrowth to gather around a large and incomplete faerie ring. Whispers he doesn’t understand, tongues he doesn’t speak, the staggering buzz of otherworldly magic. The way they shifted from animal to fae so fluidly, they seemed a little bit of both and yet a little bit of neither.

Bokuto pulls the jackal skin around him a little bit tighter.

The Inarizaki faes, clothed in black and silver, did not acknowledge him when the twins flung themselves into the embrace of a slender silver-haired fae, stern and reassuring at the same time. However, he cannot shake off the crawling feeling of the lingering looks they give him.

 _I’m a human in another world, and I am here to save a friend,_ he chants to himself over and over.

(Didn’t the twins say that they could read human emotions? Read this, guys: FEAR.)

He trails behind the family until they settle at the edge of the ring, their leader seated on a chair of twisted contorta plant. The twins giggle amongst themselves; Atsumu eyes the other faes with fascination, while Osamu eyes the nearby berry plants and licks his lips.

Bokuto huddles nervously besides them, low on the ground, and peeks out from under the pelt.

The fae families had all gathered together in groups, each discernible by their distinct colours. They move with the air of their animals; Inarizaki, all foxes of different breeds, had small, quick steps and careful eyes. Across the ring, a small orange-haired fae clings onto the branch of a scarlet willow, laughing as his angry-looking friend tugs on his black robes. The rest of his family talk amongst themselves, poised but alert, their soot streaked with orange veins. Every so often, someone sheds petals, switching between black and orange explosions.

“Miya brothers,” Kita says. The twins look up at him, as does Bokuto, who notices with a start that the leader’s gaze was directed at him.“That is the Karasuno family.”

 _Makes sense,_ Bokuto thinks. _Look how sharp their eyes are._

“And that, beside them,” Kita continues, casually delivering information to their visitor with the twins as a medium, “The Nekoma family, their age-old enemy and ally.”

Bokuto starts, rather violently. _Neko…!_

“The Cats and the Crows.” Kita nods. “Look carefully.”

Bokuto gulps. _I am._

Red lined with black, occasional flashes of white. A small chesnut-haired fae flicks the arm of a tall grey-haired fae mid-argument; the latter flails ten feet backwards, shifts into a Russian blue, and lands hissing on all fours. Red scraps blossom out from both their bodies.

Kuroo appears, obviously telling them off. Although he laughs at the disgruntled grey cat, the smile doesn’t loosen the crease on his forehead. Behind him, Kenma looks bored, but in the same aloof way Bokuto remembers from when they led him into the forest that night. And behind him…

 _Tamp down your smell, it’s way too obvious,_ Atsumu says. “Kita-san, why isn’t the last one in red?”

Kita hums. “An anomaly, indeed.”

 _AKAASHI!!!!!!!_ Bokuto yells, hoping for once that the whole telepathy thing would work. _I’M HERE!!!!_

 _Too far away,_ Kita’s quiet voice echoes in his head. Bokuto meets his gaze, impatient, but the blankness in the fae’s eyes makes him shudder. _In this babble of magic, we can only hear you if we’re actively seeking out your voice. And in the first place only leader-level faes are telepathic._

Was it even possible? Bokuto looks at Akaashi and wonders if he had gotten prettier somehow. Then he despairs at how tired and sad he looks. Then he thinks, with confusion, presuming he was going to join Nekoma, why was he still wearing white, and why had he been an owl?

Speaking of which, why isn’t there an owl family anywhere? The faes all shifted occasionally in parts, a tail here and a patch of coloured skin there, but no sign of any owls. Kinda disappointing. Owls were the coolest. They all looked so different, but they were all so cool.

A deathly quiet falls on the faes, thousands of magical eyes turning with burning focus on the center of the ring.

 _It begins,_ Kita murmurs. _Think of nothing until you must._

 _Ok,_ Bokuto replies, then opens his ears wide and stares at the ground with such intense ferocity that the soil nearly sizzles under pressure.

-

Kuroo hates the blood pact. Yeah, it heals quickly, and it’s always nice to have new members in the family (even though he still doubts the decision to initiate Lev a few decades back), but the stupid thing hurt and it was really uncomfortable to have to cut someone’s arm open and watch your blood drip into their wound. Even worse that he had no one to blame but his younger self for being a dramatic shit all those centuries ago when he and Kenma had decided, with childish ambition, to start a new Nekoma from scratch, different in tradition and character from their ancestors, to initiate and convert and eventually breed a new family line.

The look on Akaashi’s face when they’d first told him what an initiation would mean pretty much summed it all up.

“I have to _what_?” he’d said in utter disbelief, looking disgusted. “I do _not_ want to take a single drop of Kuroo-san’s bodily fluids, thank you very much.”

Ah yes, back when he was still mildly respectful.

“The magic flowing through our veins is what gives us power and makes the change irreversible,” Kuroo had answered. “We must keep it moving through and through.”

As Nekomata converges with the other family elders to begin the gathering, Kuroo runs his finger down their ceremonial knife, a frail obsidian blade inlaid with streaks of ruby. He’s already marked the cutting line with a bit of chalk on their arms. He wonders if Akaashi will collapse at the cut like Lev did, but probably not, he was made of tougher stuff than that limp noodle of a human.

He wonders how sad Akaashi still is. Not only about having to become a full fae, but also because of…

Well. Him. The dumb, sincere guy who’d left him hanging.

Humans were easy to read, but this one had always been a bit of a mystery, even more so after he’d begun his initiation. He’d tried shifting into a cat once, an awkward but incredibly rare ojos azules — but one who clearly preferred being an owl. That, in combination with his lavenders and themes of golden monochrome? There was no family that fit except for the one, ancient and long-lost.

It was all Nekoma could do to take him in.

“So wraps up the damage and reparations reports,” the Elder Council is saying. “In conclusion, the King’s convoy is willing to discuss any and all arrangements in their ruler’s place to ensure a smoother and fairer relationship between us and the humans.”

“And what does Yahaba propose we do?” a fae heckles, nameless in the crowd. “Keep scrimping and hiding from those inferiors just because of _their_ fear?”

The gathering breaks out in mutters, and Nekoma yawns as one. _Around half the current fae population are human converts_ , Kuroo thinks. _Fucking classist purity assholes._

“That one won’t make it past the barrier alive,” Kenma murmurs. Yaku lets out an irritated hiss.

“We move on to our children initiations,” the Council continues, ignoring the heckler. The mood instantly goes from sour to savoury, notes of anticipation dancing in the breeze. Around the ring, various fae children peek out behind their family heads; a little blonde girl from Karasuno with bluestar flowers in her hair clings tightly onto Sawamura’s arm, practically climbing up his back. “A total of twenty, their worth to judge. Leaders and initiates, come forth.”

Across the ring, the Inarizaki family leader steps out with a pair of twin boys in tow. It was rare to have twin faes; they were too powerful, and so inexplicably tied to one another that they rarely lived long. Five centuries, at most. You could never tell.

Kuroo takes Shibayama’s hand — the poor boy is shaking with nerves — and squeezes it reassuringly.

He hopes no one has to kill themselves this time round.

The Council begins naming the initiatives with their common and higher names. Human converts normally retained their human names and only received the second, but if the child had been fae-born, they’d receive both. The little Karasuno girl was Yachi Hitoka. The twins were Miya, Osamu and Atsumu. Nekoma’s own Shibayama Yuuki, who shifted into a gentle munchkin kitty.

Even though he’s done this many times before, he still finds it in himself to marvel at the various ceremonial power transfers each family uses.

Sawamura plucks a feather from his palm, and little Yachi swallows it whole. Her eyes roll back, and she falls to the ground, convulsing, shifting from one form to the other. It takes her around ten seconds to absorb the magic fully, flapping weakly into Sawamura’s arms. The family caws loudly.

If the initiates’ bodies rejected the abrupt infusion of magic, they usually dissolved into clouds of blood mist.

As he’d thought, the twins were powerful, and incredibly eager. Atsumu shifts almost immediately into a fox after Kita and he touch cuts, and Osamu follows, almost looking bored with the whole process. They lick the droplets of blood from Kita’s pricked fingers and scamper eagerly back to their family with tails touching, albeit slightly on the wobbly side. The faes murmur amongst themselves, and Kuroo senses at least one source of apprehension.

Finally it’s his turn, and Shibayama is practically an earthquake.

“Relax,” Kuroo says, then plunges the knife into his arm.

It takes him twelve seconds to adapt; less than Lev did. Good boy. Kuroo bows to the Council, and backs out of the ring, Shibayama still trembling in his arms.

“We move on,” the Elder Council says, “to the adult initiates.”

The apprehension racks up, and at least half of it is emanating from behind Kuroo.

 _I’m sorry, Akaashi,_ he thinks bitterly. _We didn’t want it to have to be this way, either._

-

_These twins are crazy,_ Bokuto decides as he watches Kuroo’s child initiate slowly fade into a little black cat. _Everyone else took at least a couple seconds. And whoa, is Kuroo gonna stab Akaashi???? Why????_

 _Shush,_ Kita says with a hint of severity. _Your big event is coming up._

“We move on to the adult initiates,” the older faes in the ring say. Well, most of them were older. The head of Karasuno looked pretty young, even though there was an older fae lurking in the background of their group like a spirit.

 _Ukai-san is twelve hundred and thirty two this year,_ Kita lectures. _And shut up already. Pay attention._

 _I am, I am,_ Bokuto argues, staring intently at Nekoma.

The leader guy from Karasuno steps out with a calm-looking guy behind him, and Kuroo steps out as Akaashi trails apprehensively behind him. “Only two this gathering to receive the gift, let it be a blessing or a curse. Come forth…Akaashi Keiji.”

The jackal pelt raises its head, and its frantic golden gleam catches Kuroo’s eye.

 _What the FUCK!!!_ Kuroo yells inside Bokuto’s head. _WHAT the ABSOLUTE—_

 _ACT FIRST ASK LATER WHAT DO I NEED TO DO!!!_ Bokuto yells back, watching realisation dawn across his dumb scarred face.

“So we allow you to take the blood of a true fae from the family of Nekoma; should your body reject it, then you shall bear its consequences alone,” the Council rumbles.

Akaashi, his fingers twisting behind his back, looking up with poise and respect even now at the Council members. He slumps minutely, squares his shoulders, looks up with defeat seeping from his every pore.

 _Hold your fire,_ Kuroo yells, even as he takes Akaashi’s arm in preparation, frantic eyes flitting from the jackal’s raised haunches to the knife in his hand. _Hold it!_

“It is an honour,” Akaashi replies mechanically.

The Council nods at Kuroo, and Akaashi shuts his eyes with the resignation of a dying man.

**_NOW!_ **

Several things happen at once.

“The Nekoma family rejects Akaashi Keiji from his fae initiation!” Kuroo yells, slashing his knife diagonally between them. A cut opens up on Akaashi’s arm, forming a perfect perpendicular across a line of chalk. The air itself slices open for the briefest of moments, shimmering red with the pop of thunder.

The gathering gasps as one.

The Council stands up in perfect unison.

Akaashi is flung violently out of the ring like a ragdoll.

Bokuto rips off his pelt.

The Council grows and grows, blocking all sunlight and towering over them as Bokuto crouches protectively over Akaashi’s shivering body. He has one knife. It’s small and a little bit ancient, but the blade is iron and it is _glowing_ in the glade, the one light under the Council’s shadow.

“REASON FOR REJECTION,” the Council thunders. “AND EXPLAIN THIS…HUMAN ON OUR SACRED GROUNDS.”

“Beg your pardon,” Kuroo says, staring at Bokuto with the firmness of a true leader. “But it’s against our laws to rip an initiative away from their mortal connection.”

The Council considers this, then one figure says, “But this child is not fully human.”

“Correct.” Kenma slinks out of the crowd, thin pupils wide and unnerving. “You should all have sensed it by now. He is, in some ways, one of us; the blood of the exiled Fukurodani family runs through his veins."

_I’m…the blood of what???_

“I thought it was a joke, since I’m not so good at sensing bloodlines,” Kuroo adds, “But now I’m sure. After all, I’ve been told that coincidence is but the fool’s perception of fate.”

_I have…??????_

The Council leers over him, pairs of vicious eyes burning into his very soul.

“YOUR NAME,” it thrums. “GIVE IT.”

Bokuto points his knife in no particular direction, still hyperaware of the blood mist draining out of the cut on Akaashi’s arm. “No way! I know what you guys do with our names!”

“It’s Bokuto,” Kenma says, annoyed. “Literally, _horned owl._ Is that not enough proof of his descent? That, and the gold eyes? And, you know, the fact that he _made it this far into the gathering without being detected?_ ”

“Um,” Kuroo tries. “Can we just make Akaashi human again and be done with this?”

The Council ignores them both. “Hello, Bokuto,” it says, with a moderated kindness. “Where did you get that knife?”

As confused as he is, Bokuto can still fight the same way he’s done his whole life, and damn it if he won’t. “Why should I tell you?”

The air pressure drops so suddenly that blood splatters out of his nose. “Ok, ok, I’ll tell you!” he shouts hurriedly, pinching his nose and glancing at Akaashi’s face in concern. (He seems fine.) “By gradpa gave it to be! Just before he died. He said it was bade in the fabily ages ago.”

“How long is ages?” the Council inquires.

“What?” Bokuto scowls. When he wipes his face, blood splatters onto the grass next to him, sizzling onto the soil. “I don’t know, he just said it’d help to have it. I was like four! They’re all dead! I’m the last one in my family. Why does it matter anyway? Whether I’m related to a bunch of fae or not, they’re not the ones I’m here for! I’m just here for Akaashi! So are we allowed to go in peace or whatever or not??!!”

The buzzing magic gets almost unbearable; Bokuto gasps, his heart squeezed in a vice and his brains in a jumble, and maybe those had been his last words but it was true and worth a try but ok so maybe he shouldn’t have screamed at a bunch of elder fae but Akaashi was still on the ground and everything about him was familiar, from his dark curls and lavender stalks to the silk of his tunic and the way his thin fingers clenched desperately and were probably leaving nail marks on Bokuto’s arm —

And just as suddenly as it rose, the magic drops.

“The connection is true,” the Council announces, and sunlight floods the glade once more. “The initiation is annulled, the rejection accepted. With, ah…graces…to the Nekoma family.”

Kuroo’s head is bowed, but there’s a definite triumph radiating from him, so loudly that even Bokuto can feel it. He wipes more blood from his nose — his head and heart still throbbing with magic — fumbles for Akaashi’s cold hand and grips it so tightly that he imagines Akaashi squeezing back.

“Henceforth Akaashi Keiji will be mortal once more, as he was before first contact,” the Council continues. “That is, if no other family will have him…?”

The thousands of faes watching turn their heads aside as one.

Kita looks at Bokuto out of the corner of his eye and gives him a small smile.

“Very well.”

Thousands of eyes. Hundreds of thousands. Bright, burning, fierce.

Cold fingers, so familiar and yet so strange, soft and hesitant on his arm.

The awed and hopeful whisper that drifts from Akaashi’s lips almost sends Bokuto into a second round of heart palpitations.

“ _Bokuto-san?”_

The Council’s words reverberate through the very ground itself.

_Begone from us, mortals._

The world spins around them, and the world

goes

black.

**one month later**

Konoha swaggers up to him and punches him in the arm.

“Oh Bokuto,” he sighs overdramatically while Bokuto rubs his arm with a stupid grin on his face. “If only everyone was so lucky to come back from work with a handsome guy like you did.”

“You bastard,” Komi adds, and everyone laughs.

“What can I say? I got lucky,” Bokuto boasts, flinging his arm over Akaashi’s shoulders. Akaashi rolls his eyes, but doesn’t seem too displeased, folding his arms and leaning into his side with a secretive smile.

Washio comes into the backyard out the kitchen door, thrusting a bag in Bokuto’s direction. The majority of his belongings are already at the new and neat little cottage by the woods, bought with a portion of the King’s payments and the heavy gratitude of Black Jackal Village. In the bag is remaining knick-knacks Bokuto had left in his room, a spare bag of coins that he had stashed and forgotten about in the depths of the couch cushions, and a well-meaning note.

“Congratulations,” he says gruffly. He shakes Akaashi’s hand with a kind nod. Bokuto beams at him. Akaashi is chewing the inside of his cheek the way he does when he’s trying not to smile.

The gate creaks open, and Mika waltzes in with Daishou in tow. She grabs Bokuto’s hands and spins him in a circle, laughing merrily. “Bokuto-kun,” she trills. “Congratulations!”

“Sorry,” Daishou says lowly to Akaashi, who shrugs lightly. “She’s a bit of a romantic.”

Mika then grabs Akaashi’s hands and spins him in a bemused circle as well, before letting him stumble back to Bokuto’s side. She clasps her hands together, looking whimsical. “It seems like only yesterday when Suguru and I met…”

“ _Mika,_ ” Daishou says, embarrassed. “You’ve told them the story at least a thousand times by now…”

“Yeah, we’ve heard your story plenty, doctors,” Konoha smirks. “But we haven’t heard theirs yet…?”

“You’re right,” Komi says, swivelling to look at them. “This fat mouth hasn’t let out any secrets yet. Well? You’re moving out today, we might as well have the full deal. Akaashi, is he bribing you or something?”

“He doesn’t have the money to afford that,” Akaashi replies with a raised eyebrow and a quirked mouth, to which Bokuto lets out a fake offended gasp.

“That’s mean! After what I did for Black Jackal???”

Komi and Konoha snicker while Washio shakes his head. “So how did you meet in Black Jackal Village?” Konoha presses on. “Did he save your ass or something? You feel indebted to the man who saved your life?”

Akaashi hesitates. “No, we just…met in the woods.”

“Yeah!” Bokuto chimes in. “I was, um…being huntery…?”

No one looks satisfied with the story, but at that moment Sarukui pops his head out from the kitchen window and shouts something along the lines of “you guys better get in here before Yukie eats everything we just made!”, and everyone runs in for the feast, and the matter is left at that.

-

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says later that night. “How DID we meet again?”

Akaashi by the window, pulling their curtains shut. Bokuto hunched over by the fire next to the poker. A new house — unfamiliar, but full of uncontested possibilities. For a while, the only sound is the crackling of hot wood.

“Something about a cat,” Akaashi eventually says. “Maybe two cats.”

“Something about lavender.” Bokuto screws up his face. “I don’t know, I can’t remember…”

He trails off with a frown. The bag Washio gave him is lying on the table, its contents half-spilling on to the wooden surface — a dried sprig of lavender, a glass jar with a piece of parchment curled in it. Bokuto stands up and puts his hands on his hips, still trying to think.

“I can’t remember either,” Akaashi admits. The shadow he casts on the wall looms high above his height, flickering in and out of focus like a spirit.

The air is waiting.

“And also.” Bokuto pulls on the thin cord around his neck; a key slips out from under his shirt, small and silver and glinting on the narrow blue ribbon. “This has been here a while. I think it’s important? Like…life-and-death important.”

Akaashi looks closely at it, pinches the ribbon between his fingers. “This is mine,” he says, then stops abruptly.

“It is?”

“I…I think so.”

A lump of charred wood falls from the fireplace with a thump, staining their new carpet.

“Something missing,” Bokuto says vaguely, at the same time as Akaashi mutters, “ _What_ is missing?”

They look at each other, startled by the synchronicity.

Bokuto plays idly with the threads at the hem of Akaashi’s shirt. “I wonder if it’s important.”

After a short pause, Akaashi takes his hand and gives him a searching look. “Would it be important if we’ve forgotten it?”

Bokuto shrugs. The air relaxes. “I guess not,” he concedes with a light smile.

Nevertheless, almost by reflex, he tucks the key back under his shirt, the metal cold against his chest.

“I guess not,” Akaashi mimics, a hint of laughter in his eyes.

They meet each other in the dim light, and — nothing is more important than this, right now.

And that’s all he could have ever asked for.

-

_They’ve forgotten us, K_ _e_ ̴̢̡̣̖̀͊ _nm_ _a_ ̴͔̮̭̅̉̏ _.._

The light goes off in the cottage; the lovers drift asleep, sound under the covers in each other’s arms.

 _As they should have,Te_ _t_ _s_ ̴̡̫͔̮̬̫̖͂̅̈́̒̈́ _u_ _rou_ ̵̢̦̰̜̺̌͊͆̂́̈́̍͠ _._

Two felines — one black, one calico — their tails curling together in the shadows.

 _The_ _c_ _o_ _un_ _c_ ̴͚̼͇̘̯̞̯̗̻̳̣̓ _il_ _does its job well. Well enough, I hope. They are strong._

Little clouds of red mist, dissolving in the darkness with a soft purr.

_Good_ _b_

_̨̡̯̥̼̝̩̲̜.y_

̴̘͖͓͉̮̣͓̯̝͖̜̤̤̠͍͍̖̮͔̉͗̋ _e_

**Author's Note:**

> ...there will probably be a third? if that is wanted ofc. btw this was posted on asahi’s bday where i am so happy new decade yall if you’re reading it around the time i posted
> 
> please leave opinions/kudos as you see fit -- thanks for sticking around!
> 
> my twitter is [here](https://twitter.com/silentlypunk_?s=20) for more writing/fan tidbits :)


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